


What If?

by DarkReyna16



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Ugh, War AU, also rape is implied, because my brain cannot be controlled when it comes to powerful media, but I figured a warning was in order anyway, it isn't actually described, just in case, please let this just be a one-shot without my angsty hand getting itchy...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-11 19:13:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7066639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkReyna16/pseuds/DarkReyna16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What might've happened if Reyna and Serif had met during a second Monster-Human war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuckin' "Jet Pack Blues", man.
> 
> Fall Out Boy got me fucked up.
> 
> As a result, have a fucked up AU where nothing is right, but a strain of hope still might survive.
> 
> ~Reyna

He was exhausted.

Outrunning this war was apparently impossible, but he was fighting it anyway, darting from tree to tree, hoping against hope that there was nothing out here that would try to harm him. Well, though he hoped it, amazingly, he didn’t care—the only reason he was bothering to keep himself alive was for _him_ , because if Serif died…what would Papyrus do?

Serif’s attention was diverted by a crash in the trees behind him.

He whirled around, gaster blasters ready to fire, but it was just Papyrus; he had fallen down again.

Gritting his teeth, Serif dismissed his blasters and rushed forward, pulling his brother to his feet. He hated this—Papyrus should not have to run like this, fearing for his life every day, holding back tears he only let fall when he thought Serif was asleep. This was madness, this whole war. They never should have come to the surface.

“Come on, Pap, keep going,” Serif urged, tugging his brother’s hand, willing him to move faster. They were out of the woods now, and in a clearing that was easier to run through…but also left them exposed. “Just a bit more, and we’ll find a safe place to hide for the night.”

“I’m trying,” Papyrus whimpered, and Serif made himself slow. Despite his anxiousness, Papyrus couldn’t keep up with his long legs, especially not in this terrain. He was about to swing the monster child up into his arms and run with him for a while—it would be harder, but faster—when an abrupt sense of danger crossed his senses. He quickly shoved Papyrus back, wincing for the grunt of pain his brother issued. He would apologize later; there was a bigger issue to contend with at the moment, though he couldn’t see where through all this damn fog—

But suddenly, she was there.

She emerged from the fog, her long black jacket billowing out behind her, well-worn boots crunching across the frosty ground. Her skin and hair were both dark brown, her nose wide, the set of her full lips into a hard line. But the most startling thing about her were her eyes: they were violet, crackling with electricity that seemed to sear him, even from across the field.

Serif cursed. _Mage._ This was just his fuckin’ luck.

Even as he lifted his hands to summon his blasters again, her weapon was ready: a bow made of violet light that matched her eyes, the string drawn back, loaded with a volatile volt that crackled and spat, hissing aggression and deadliness.

Serif cursed again, this time more vehemently.

This was the worst-case scenario he could’ve run into. If this mage meant to kill him, then he was already dust on the ground—human determination was not something he could fight against. And he would even be fine if it was a quick end: living on the surface had been nothing but hell since they’d gotten here. In fact, Serif would be quite welcoming to Death right now…if it wasn’t for—

“Bro?”

“Get back, Papyrus!” Serif commanded harshly, wanting to shoot Papyrus a warning look, but not daring to risk taking his gaze off the mage. He stepped to the side, where he could feel his brother, shielding him from view…but it was too late. The mage had already seen him.

Her eyes widened, lips parted. Serif glowered at her. What, had she never seen a monster child before? Didn’t she think they existed? Or was that something she could comfortably push aside as she assisted in the murder of them all? Was that how she slept at night? Convinced that she was doing the right thing?

Even at the cost of murdering children?

Serif felt himself tense when the mage finally looked away from where Papyrus was hidden behind him, meeting his gaze. Her eyes were suddenly inscrutable, sizing him up. Serif wished he could tell Papyrus to run—he didn’t mind dying if he had to, but not Papyrus. Never Papyrus.

He held out his arms wide, a shield and a target. If she wanted Papyrus, she was going to have to go through Serif first.

The mage stared at him, longer than Serif cared for. What was she waiting for? If she was going to kill him, she might as well get it over with—he might be able to outrun her, but he wouldn’t be able to outmuscle her in the end, and he wouldn’t turn his back on her for even a second. The situation was hopeless. So why did she wait?

The mage stared…and then, very, very slowly, lowered her weapon.

It was Serif’s turn to stare now, his distrust of her going into overdrive.

What was she doing? Trying to lull him into a false sense of security? It wouldn’t work—Serif wasn’t stupid. All the humans had tried to do when monsters returned to the surface was murder them—and _her_ kind were the reason the monsters had all been trapped underground in the first place. So if this was true mercy she was offering…why choose to show it now? It was too little, too late, in Serif’s opinion. Way too late.

The mage said nothing, just staring. He stared back, waiting for the moment of treachery, where she would suddenly remember herself and turn her bow on him so fast that he wouldn’t even have time to tell his brother to run for safety—

Loud voices pierced the quiet of the foggy field. Serif’s head snapped to the right, his breath quickening in horror. Oh no— _more_ of them?

There was the sound of something slicing through air, and Serif realized his mistake too late—before he could react, the bolt crashed into him, electrocuting him. Serif screamed, the pain unbearable, losing all sense of time and place. Somewhere around him, Papyrus cried out for him, but Serif couldn’t make himself answer, the pain was too great. He lay on the ground, twitching, only dimly aware of racing footsteps coming from somewhere…

“Back off!” A harsh voice commanded, and the footsteps paused. The voice was the closest to Serif, and he breathed raggedly, trying to get himself under control, to defend himself before it was too late. “This is _my_ kill!”

“Says who, little girl?” Challenged a rough voice. There was an abrupt spike of power in the air, making Serif whimper, because it aggravated his injury. There was a pause, and another voice grunted,

“Don’t mess with it. That’s a _witch._ ”

The rough voice from before growled, but from the sounds of their footsteps, they appeared to be retreating. Inwardly, Serif wanted to laugh at the irony—she was one of them, and yet, they condemned her for her magic. It made him wonder why she was bothering to stand with them at all…but he wouldn’t pretend to understand what could not be fathomed.

Another pair of footsteps drew closer. Serif fought with his rising panic and his unresponsive body, the fight-or-flight response within him confused on whether her wanted to run or punch. And Papyrus—he couldn’t hear Papyrus. Where was Papyrus?!

Suddenly, the mage was there, leaning over him. Serif stared up at her, and she stared down at him. Her eyes were still unreadable. Slowly, she raised a hand, bringing it close to Serif. He flinched, and she paused, as if she actually felt sorry for scaring him. The thought made Serif want to snort. Finally, her palm rested against Serif’s exposed ribcage. Her skin was warm, despite the chill in the air.

A sudden pulse from within him had Serif gasping in surprise. It was warm, this feeling, comforting. He had felt it before, many years ago…but in this context, it made no sense.

Why was this mage healing him? Especially when it had been she who damaged him in the first place?

When Serif felt well enough, he sat up. The abruptness seemed to startle the mage; she jumped back, further than he would’ve thought possible for a human—but of course, she wasn’t a human, was she? She just stared at him, saying nothing as he struggled to his feet.

“Bro!” Papyrus cried again, and Serif half-turned to find the child running at him, clinging to his leg with a sniffle. Again, Serif crouched, determined to shield his brother from harm…

But the mage was turning around, her black jacket swirling behind her.

Serif stared at her back. Was she insane? Didn’t she realize she was giving him the perfect opportunity to pay her back in kind for the injury she had just caused him, and then inexplicably healed? What was she _doing_?

Dimly, a line began to form in Serif’s mind, connecting the scenes that had just occurred—the mage aiming at him; Papyrus revealing himself; the mage lowering her bow after witnessing Papyrus, but then shooting Serif anyway when others appeared to join the hunt; turning them away instead of allowing them to help; healing the damage she had done to him; walking away now.

It made a pretty confusing train of thought, Serif had to admit. But that’s because he was convinced this was all some kind of trick, that she was just waiting until his guard was down to take him out.

…But then…if that was so, she was doing it all wrong. Why was she walking away? And why had she healed him? If she was playing with him, wouldn’t it have made better sense to leave him weak? What kind of monster-hunting mage was she?

…And why was Serif beginning to feel like she wasn’t playing with him at all?

What if…what if she had attacked him to keep those other humans from killing him?

Why would she do that?

What did she care whether he lived or died?

“Human!” Papyrus suddenly called after her, and Serif shushed him, eye sockets widening. What the hell did he think he was doing?!

Papyrus ignored him, ducking around the hand he tried to use to cover his mouth, despite the holes in his palms.

“Thank you for helping us!”

The mage paused. For a second, it didn’t seem like she would say anything at all.

And then she half-turned, her gaze inspecting Papyrus for a moment before it rested on Serif. It was to him she spoke.

“Run,” she warned him, her eyes serious. Before Serif could think of anything to say, she turned and disappeared into the fog just as swiftly as she had come. And then all was still and silent again.

“…Let’s go, Pap,” Serif insisted, once again feeling exposed in the open space. Papyrus took his hand, and they fled to the other side of the clearing, disappearing into the trees once more.

As they ran, Serif scowled.

Damn that mage. In helping them, she had put Serif in her debt. And he hated that. He didn’t want to owe any human anything, least of all a mage.

Serif cursed to himself for a while before calming down long enough to focus on helping his brother avoid tree roots.

It didn’t matter. A small act of mercy from one mage did not change anything—humans were still awful, bloodthirsty, murdering creatures, and Serif would have nothing to do with them. And if he ever saw that mage again, he would make that perfectly clear.

 

* * *

 

 

They called him the Stone General. Apparently, the name came from his steel nerves in battle.

Serif had another name for him—disgusting jackass. Whatever steel nerves he had on the battlefield didn’t transfer over to his personal life. There, he was a raging alcoholic and serial rapist: he had women that were supposedly sympathetic to the monster cause captured and sent to his home, where he did unspeakable things to them, things that nearly made Serif’s stomach turn, despite not having one. Despite wanting to keep an eye socket on this guy in an attempt to learn his routine, Serif never watched what he did to the women—their screams were telling enough, and he never let Papyrus near when it was that time of night. A part of him was disgusted with himself for doing nothing…but it was essential that he didn’t botch this mission, so even if what was going on made him sick, he could not intervene, for it was not his place.

And besides, they were only human women.

Serif hated himself for this rationalization. But this was war—he did what he had to to keep himself and his brother alive, nothing more, nothing less.

His relief that it would soon be time to strike was exponential—he and Papyrus perched in a tree outside the general’s house, watching him get smashed off whiskey in his living room. Tonight was a test run of sorts—if all went well tonight, they’d be able to strike as early as tomorrow evening. Serif was smirking, the irony of the moment strong—how fearsome the Stone General seemed on the battlefield, that all monsters who dared to speak his name whispered it, as if speaking it louder would summon him. But despite all that pomp and circumstance, his home security was laughable; he only had a few cameras watching the premises, cameras that were easily manipulated by Papyrus’ magic, stuck on a loop, even as they sat in plain sight of one. But the camera monitor in the living room did not change at all, so Serif knew his brother’s magic was effective. Besides, he doubted the disgusting jackass would notice a difference—he was already half-way through the bottle of whiskey, some of it dribbling down his chin as he laughed raucously at whatever inane human program he was watching. Serif leaned forward, his gaze intent on the human. In just a few short hours, he’d be drunk enough to fall asleep, which would make him easy pickings. Despite acting in his and his brother’s best interests, Serif was certain none of monsterkind would miss this jackass…nor would some of the human women, he’d wager…

“Bro,” Papyrus hissed, nudging him and pointing. Serif glanced over, and profanity escaped him when he saw the jeep pulling into the driveway. What was it doing here? It was the wrong night! This was a deviation from the schedule, something Serif hadn’t anticipated, and it made him angry. What if this happened tomorrow night, when they were supposed to strike? It could ruin everything!

“Go back, Pap,” Serif ordered, “the test run is off.” He didn’t want his brother seeing what was about to come next, what horrors the humans were capable of inflicting onto their own species…

Papyrus didn’t move.

“What if we run into this situation tomorrow?” Papyrus pointed out, his eye sockets tight. “We can’t just give up just because something happened that we didn’t expect. That’s inevitable. You can’t predict everything down to the letter, Serif. If we’re gonna run into surprises, it might as well be tonight.”

“That’s not why I’m tellin’ ya to leave,” Serif growled, annoyed that his brother was making a lot of sense right now. Serif was older, so _he_ was supposed to be the wise one, damn it. “I don’t want—”

“Shh!” Papyrus shushed him, pointing again to the house. Gritting his teeth, Serif focused his attention on the house, though he knew what was happening—it was the lieutenant, here to deliver the general’s next victim. And they called _Serif’s_ kind monsters? These men needed to be castrated.

“Veeeeery nice,” Serif could hear the general saying through his open living room window; he was practically salivating as the poor woman was ushered into the living room, though she was putting up a valiant fight—though her arms appeared to be bound behind her, her legs were flailing as she struggled to rip herself from the lieutenant’s grasp. He put a hand on her dark throat, looking like he was choking her—

She threw her head back, bashing her skull into his face. The lieutenant swore and threw her to the ground, cursing her as his nose began to bleed. He aimed a kick at her, but the general intervened, grinning a downright nasty grin.

“It’s fine, Lieutenant, fine…I like the ones who fight. They’re a little more fun. Anyway, thanks for the surprise. Best birthday present you could’ve given me.”

“Be careful about taking off the cuffs,” the lieutenant warned thickly through the blood streaming from his nose. “This one knows magic.”

Serif froze.

“A witch?” The general mused, looking troubled for a moment, if the crease of his brow was any indication. But all too soon, the smarmy look was back, and he grinned down at the woman on the floor. “I’ve never had a witch before. Interesting…thank you, Lieutenant. You’re dismissed.”

The lieutenant passed the general something shiny—a key? Shooting the woman on the floor one last vehement look, the lieutenant stalked out.

“Now,” the general purred, quite steady on his feet despite the bottle of whisky being three-fourths empty, “let’s take a look at that pretty face…that’s it…”

With a gentleness that was deceiving, the general lifted the woman’s head with a guiding hand under her chin, brushing the hair from her face with a gesture that was almost loving—Serif had to fight the urge to gag.

“Ah…what unusual eyes you have.” The general simpered, licking his lips. “I rather like them…maybe I should keep you for a while…”

Serif didn’t need the surprised gasp that issued from his brother to recognize her—

It was the mage that had inexplicably spared him and Papyrus many, many years ago.

Or, at least, it looked like her. But it couldn’t be—she’d be older by now, middle-aged. Was this girl a descendant?

As the general dared to trace her bottom lip with a finger, the mage snarled and bit down viciously on his finger. The general howled from the pain, swearing angrily as he slapped the mage with his free hand, brutalizing her to make her let go. But despite the harm he caused her, she did not let go until he literally flung her from his hand. She hit a wall and groaned, her face pressed into the carpet as the general stood over her, breathing heavily, no longer amused.

“Bitch,” he spat, kicking her. The mage curled in on herself as he did it again, his rage petering out with the second kick. “Guess a blow job’s out, with teeth like that…fine. Breaking you is only going to be that much more fun now.”

“Change of plans, Pap,” Serif muttered, feeling something white-hot boiling within him as the general reached for the woman, pinning her flailing legs down with his weight. Her eyes were wide and wild as he leaned over her, his breath probably stinking of whiskey—“We’re doin’ this tonight.”

“Oh thank god,” Serif heard Papyrus mutter; he looked over and found his brother somehow paler than usual, his understanding of the situation clear. With a nod that Papyrus returned, they dropped out of the tree together, silently creeping up to the window that the general so foolishly left open in the evening to cool his den of sin.

“Stop struggling,” the general was growling as they entered the living room, creeping up silently behind him. “You’re only making it worse for yourself, little girl. You might as well enjoy it—it’s probably been a while since you got any, right? I can show you a good time, if you’d stop being a little bitch—”

The mage saw them at the last minute. Her eyes widened, but whether she wanted to scream or not, the general’s hand was over her mouth. He was either so preoccupied with subduing her, or so drunk that his senses were dulled, that he didn’t sense anyone behind him until it was too late, and Serif had the cloth pressed to his face.

Surprise seemed to choke the general—he flailed, fingers scrabbling at the back of Serif’s hand. But the chloroform did its job quickly—within a few seconds, the disgusting jackass was out for the count, his massive, muscular body collapsing on the floor next to his would-be victim. She scrambled away, against the wall, staring at the unconscious general with wide eyes.

“Grab whatever supplies you can,” Serif ordered his brother, pressing the empty duffel bag into his hands. “I’ll take care of things here.”

Papyrus stared at Serif. This was usually the point where he tried to reason with Serif, to insist that there was no reason to kill the humans they incapacitated. It was senseless, he would say—why murder then after they had already taken advantage of the situation and robbed them blind? Didn’t they deserve to live just as much as anyone else? Was it worth it, all that blood on Serif’s hands?

As Serif braced himself, prepared to growl at Papyrus to do what he told him, his brother looked away, at the trembling mage. Something in his expression hardened, and Serif was abruptly struck by the loss of innocence that had just occurred here tonight.

“…Okay,” Papyrus conceded, clutching the duffel bag and retreating. Serif blew out a sigh, almost hating how easy that was. Papyrus was meant to be his moral compass, and he had no idea how to feel about the fact that his brother seemed to be making an exception in this situation.

Serif leaned over, inspecting the unconscious general. It needn’t be messy—just a sharp twist of the neck, and the general would never wake up again, never rape or murder again…but giving him such a swift end seemed far, far too easy. Serif knew all his sins—he was judge, jury, and executioner—why should he let him die peacefully in his sleep? Why not shred him to pieces with one of his blasters? Or slit his throat, at the very least?

He withdrew his knife, inspecting it. It was gorgeous—six inches of cold, serrated steel, guaranteed to leave a scar…if he intended his stab victim to survive. Carefully, Serif moved the general’s head to the side, exposing his jugular vein. One quick flick of his knife, and the disgusting jackass would bleed to death…hmm, still seemed too easy. But he didn’t have the luxury of time to give the general a proper death…and if there was a god, surely he would damn this man’s soul to the fiery pits immediately? Wasn’t that proper justice?

As Serif pressed the tip of his knife into the skin of the general’s neck, watching blood bead against the steel, a clanking sound distracted him. He looked up, suddenly realizing that the mage was still there, her bound hands clutched in front of her now. Her irises were tiny dots of color in her wide eyes, and she breathed fast, nearly hyperventilating, her gaze still fixed on the general’s lifeless form. Serif swore under his breath; he had forgotten all about her.

Putting the knife away for now, Serif patted down the general, feeling sick at the thought of having to touch him more than was necessary. But he thankfully found what he was looking for soon enough, in the pocket of the general’s robes—the key the lieutenant had passed him before his departure. Serif stared at it for a moment, and then threw a glance to the mage. It…would be wrong to just leave her here, wouldn’t it? After what she had almost gone through?

Serif moved over to her, carefully stepping over the general. He crouched down a few inches from her, inspecting her face. Her wild look switched to him, and she curled in on herself, as if afraid that she would be subjected to his twisted whims next. Serif scowled at that. When he reached forward, she flinched into the wall, her hands held up, as if to ward him off…but the cuffs must have been reinforced with something that either interfered or drained magic—even as the mage tried to summon something to defend herself, her hands sparked and sputtered, the attack dying before it could even be formed. She was helpless.

Serif paused. Carefully, he raised his hands, keeping his expression neutral. He meant no harm, after all—he was just trying to repay an old debt. The mage stared at him, her pupils still dilated in fear. He waited.

Slowly—very, very slowly—tension began to leave the mage’s shoulders. She slumped against the wall now, rather than being huddled against it, her arms slowly lowering. She was still breathing fast, her gaze focused on him, eyes narrow, as if she expected a trick. Serif didn’t blame her her caution, and so he made his movements extra-slow as he carefully reached forward, avoiding her skin as he unlocked the cuffs. They fell to the floor with a clatter.

The mage rubbed her wrists, her breathing beginning to slow. Her hands sparked again, and her magic rushed to her fingertips, bolts of electricity zipping in between her fingers, as if to reassure her that everything was all right. She closed her eyes, easing air into her lungs now, carefully, as if she were afraid they would break from the strain. Serif watched her, brooding.

What would she do, now that her freedom was hers again? Would she rejoin the humans in their quest to slaughter every last monster on the planet? Or had this scarring night left its mark on her? Or had she always been averse to the war? After all, all the general’s victims were prisoners, traitors against the humans, punished in the vilest of ways. Was this mage the same? Or had she simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time…?

The mage opened her eyes. They were violet, like her predecessor…it was actually remarkable how much she resembled the woman that let Serif and Papyrus run free…human genes were weird…

Serif stared back at her, registering the change that came into her eyes as she looked at him. It was…knowing.

Familiar.

There was a grunt behind him, and Serif cursed. The general was stirring; that’s what Serif got for using a cheaper form of chloroform, he supposed.

He was crouching over the general, knife at his throat, when the mage stood up. She did it slowly, as if afraid her knees would give out from under her, eyes once again on the general. Hate seared through her expression, and the air crackled, anticipating the storm.

She wanted revenge. Serif didn’t blame her. If only she knew…

His grip tightened on the knife. There was no time—the lieutenant would return soon; he always came back for the general’s victims after he had finished with them. If the mage wanted to be far, far away before that happened, she had to go now.

“W…wh—” The general sputtered, but Serif clenched his fingers over his mouth, stifling any further noise. His gaze was on the mage, on her legs that trembled slightly, the hostility in her eyes, hostility that barely masked a hideous fear…

As if she felt his stare, the mage’s gaze switched to him.

And Serif said one word:

“Run.”

The mage’s eyes flashed in recognition.

And then she was running, darting across the living room and slipping out the open window. Serif watched as she disappeared into the night, silently marveling.

It was the same mage.

How odd.

The general was starting to struggle. Serif let his knife bite deeper into his throat, and the disgusting jackass yelped, eyes growing wide and wild with fear…like a helpless girl cornered in his living room.

Serif gave a vindictive smirk.

“Evenin’, General. Sorry to spring this on ya, but I’ve been sent by your commandin’ officer, and he reckons—ya know, since you’re a piece of shit—that you should be relieved of your duties. Permanently.”

That night, the only person made to scream in the general’s living room was the general.

 

* * *

 

The place was called Haven. It added to the hype, in Serif’s opinion.

After years and years and _years_ of this war, he wasn’t stupid enough to believe it. There had been more promises than he could count of a safe place for monsters, places that either ended up being lies, or traps. He would not be fooled again.

The problem was Papyrus.

“C’mon!” He protested for what felt like the millionth time as they squatted in some abandoned building for another night, “why can’t we just check it out? Why couldn’t it be the real deal this time?”

Serif sighed. He hated having to rob Papyrus of his hope.

“Because it never is, Pap.”

“But what if it _is_ this time?”

“It’s not,” Serif snapped, irritable now. He was so sick to death of the issue at this point.

But Papyrus wasn’t giving up. He was the only monster Serif knew that could give human determination a run for its money.

“Look,” he attempted to compromise, “let’s just have a look, all right? We’ll watch the place, look for signs of trouble. If anything at all seems sketchy, I’ll let it go. But can’t we just give it a chance? Please?”

Serif stared out of the broken window. The moon was bright tonight, full in its radiance. It kind of annoyed him—what right did something so beautiful have to exist in such a hateful world?

Papyrus’ voice was softer now.

“It may be a long shot…but it’s _something,_ Bro. Let’s give it a chance. Please.”

Serif closed his eye sockets. He was tired of running and hiding. He was tired of the fighting. He was tired of the dust, the fear, everything.

He was just so tired.

“…Okay,” he relented. Because, really, if Papyrus could still have hope, who was Serif to stand in his way?

 

* * *

 

He couldn’t believe it.

It actually existed.

Haven.

The name wasn’t just blown smoke after all.

It was a gigantic stronghold, the sixty-foot metal walls making Serif nervous; he didn’t like the feeling of being trapped. As he and Papyrus were ushered through by a couple of friendly-looking monster guards, he tried to remind himself that the walls were just there for protection.

But then he got a good look within the fortress, and his legs locked automatically.

There were _humans_ here.

“We know,” said a guard as Serif spit the accusation at them, looking slightly uncomfortable. “It’s been…uh, _odd._ But they want to help us.”

‘Help’? Serif snorted. What the hell was this guard smoking? Humans didn’t help. They only destroyed.

But as Serif was making up his mind to leave right that minute, Papyrus took his arm. He was too big to hold his hand anymore—the damn kid was passing Serif’s height, and he was only sixteen, for god’s sake—and too old to allow whatever excuses Serif might come up with to leave. He stared his brother down, his expression a painful reminder that Serif had _promised_ to give this a shot. Growling and grumbling curses under his breath, Serif only gave a short nod, and allowed the guards to lead them further into the base.

They were assigned a small shack big enough for the two of them, given supplies, and told the rules. They were basic, common sense rules, so Serif zoned out with the knowledge that Papyrus would pay rapt attention, and would keep him on the straight and narrow should he unknowingly break a nonsense rule they might have for some reason.

There was also a chore schedule they had to follow—unavoidable, since there were too many people in this place to _not_ put hands to work—but the guards had no idea where they would be needed yet. Serif and Papyrus were instructed to standby and settle in while they asked the higher ups where they could use extra bodies. Serif thought briefly about making a ‘nobody’ joke. Very briefly.

As he and Papyrus sat on the porch of their new home, idle since they had next to nothing to put away in the place, Serif watched the people pass by—monsters and humans alike.

The atmosphere here was… _comfortable._ As if there was no war going on at all. The only telltale signs were the battle scars, the occasional snatches of conversation on the progress of the war, the shadows that haunted nearly every face Serif looked at. Other than the obvious signs, it was casual here…damn near pleasant, Serif would wager. The feeling put him on edge.

A group of humans drew close, coming from the left. Serif tensed, watching them warily, but they were paying no attention to him and Papyrus—they were joking around with a bunny monster in their midst, who laughed easily with them, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. A particular human caught Serif’s attention almost immediately: the woman in the long black jacket, her skin dark, her stance tall, despite her short stature. She was shaking her head at something one of the humans said—her hair was shorter, tousled, in disarray—rolling her eyes—violet eyes that pulsed with electric energy—

Serif stared. What were the odds?

The group dispersed; evidently, they all had chores to complete. Correction: most of them had chores to do. The bunny monster and the mage remained behind, the bunny monster passing the mage a bottle of something. Looked like alcohol, from where Serif sat, and he felt jealousy began to creep through him. What he wouldn’t give for a stiff drink right about now…

The mage thanked him, and the bunny monster departed, a slight hop to his steps. The mage looked down at the bottle for a moment, and then set it on the ground. She shrugged out of her jacket, knotting the sleeves around her waist, leaving her in a sleeveless black tank top. A tattoo snaked around her left bicep, branching off in different directions, paler than her skin, so it stood out…

It looked like she had been struck by lightning.

Serif watched her as she retrieved the bottle, twisting off the cap. She took a long pull from the bottle, making a face afterwards, as if the drink burned going down. Serif snorted without meaning to.

The mage’s eyes snapped to him. He watched them widen, and she stared at him in surprise, her full lips parted. He stared back at her, taking in the little changes to her face from the last time he saw her—she looked older now, the shadows under her eyes dense, and there was a scar or two sliced across the skin of her face. He hadn’t noticed the first time, and tried not to notice the second time, but now, he noted that she had a really nice body. Not that he cared.

After the shock seemed to wear off, the mage pursed her lips. She studied him, a debate warring in her gaze. Slowly—so very slowly—she approached.

Serif stared up at her as she stood in front of him. She held the bottle of booze in her hand lightly, like she had forgotten about it. She seemed to deliberate a moment longer, watching him.

She held out the bottle.

Serif took it.

As he took a swig, relishing in the taste of it—mmm, rum—the mage sat down in front of him. It wasn’t the way a lady should sit; she had one leg folded under her, the other raised, bent at the knee. She draped an arm over her raised knee, her other hand flat on the ground, supporting her as she leaned back a little, appraising him. Serif watched her just as intently, though he tried not to, drinking from the bottle once more before he passed it back to her. She accepted it, letting the butt of the bottle rest against the thigh of her folded leg.

“I’m Reyna,” she said.

The reminder that he had no idea what to call her before now struck Serif. She had been ‘the mage’ in his head for so long that he had nearly forgotten that that couldn’t be her name.

Reyna, huh…

“Serif,” he replied; he had been going by his middle name so long that the sound of his first name sounded odd to him, now. With a gesture to his brother, who sat quietly beside him, he added, “This is Papyrus.”

“Hi,” Papyrus said, glancing to Reyna and away sheepishly. This display of childlike shyness made Serif ache in a strange way. Remembering his manners, Papyrus cleared his nonexistent throat and added more confidently, “It’s nice to see you again.”

The mage stared at Papyrus for a moment.

And then a miracle happened.

The hardness of her face melted away, yielding to sudden warmth as her lips curved into a smile, the electricity in her eyes softening to a glow.

“It’s nice to see you again, too, kid,” she assured him. Papyrus grinned, pleased.

And Serif, for his part, could only stare.

He did not understand this new, foreign emotion coursing through him as he stared at the mage he happened across for the third time. As they talked, it faded, and he brushed it off, chalking it up to the shock of the moment; he had never seen the mage smile before.

It was not until much, much later that Serif began to understand:

The moment the mage—Reyna—had smiled so warmly at Papyrus was the moment Serif fell in love with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuuuuuuuck I fucked up I fucked up I like this I fucked UP
> 
> Quick--someone distract me from ideas of Reyna and Serif partnering up in this war.
> 
> Someone stop me from imagining sparring practices they might have.
> 
> Please, for the love of god, don't let me think about late night talks, where they just NEED each other because everything they'd had to go through keeps fucking them up, and they doubt anyone else will understand as well as they understand each other.
> 
> Someone stop this. Before...
> 
> Goddamn it. Too late.
> 
> FUCK.
> 
> ~Reyna


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> ~Reyna

            She moved very, very carefully, Serif couldn’t help but note, when she sparred with monsters. He wasn’t sure whether to find that touching…or insulting.

            After all, it wasn’t like she meant them harm—practice fighting didn’t count. Still, Reyna was predictable in her movements, her speed cut in half so the monsters she sparred with could anticipate exactly how she would attack, which enabled them to take her down that much easier.

            With humans, she was merciless. Especially with the new human recruits—any backtalk, cheeky remarks, or the occasional innuendo had her flooring them so fast that it took a moment before they even realized they were on the ground, an arm in Reyna’s grasp, the warning pain she inflicted lasting about as long as their rudeness warranted. She liked to make the more obnoxious ones cry.

            When it was time to switch partners, Papyrus stepped up to her, eager to prove himself. Serif watched as she hesitated a second. Her eyes flashed to him, and Serif ignored the jolt that went through him, giving her a half-shrug. The kid was old enough to make his own decisions; Serif had no say in the matter.

            Reyna frowned at him, as if he was being deliberately unhelpful.

            He smirked back at her.

            “…All right, kid,” she eventually relented, moving into her sparring position. “But you need to tell me _immediately_ if I’m hurting you, got it?”

            Papyrus bobbed his head eagerly, mimicking her stance.

            “Got it,” he replied. So, on the word ‘go’, the spar began.

            Serif couldn’t help his close watch—he took note of every move made, every blow landed, every wince that either of them made. Within a couple minutes that felt way too long, it was over—Papyrus had Reyna pinned to mat, and she obligingly tapped out, despite the fact that Serif knew she could break from such a hold if she wanted to.

            “Okay, good work,” she told Papyrus, giving him a grin and a pat to his shoulder, which just made his day, of course. “Why don’t you work with Undyne for a bit, now?”

            Serif would really rather he didn’t—Undyne was a little less gentle than Reyna…okay, a lot less gentle. Her enthusiasm made her perfect for training new recruits, but even so…

            But Papyrus had no qualms about this, and he eagerly joined the queue on the other side of the room, where Undyne could be seen throwing her sparring partners around like dead weight. Serif frowned, and he approached Reyna, who had moved off to the side to take a water break. He tried not to watch the movement of her throat as she swallowed, sweat glistening on her exposed skin. This shouldn’t entice him. He tore his gaze away from her and grumbled,

            “Pap’s gonna think every fight’ll be that easy if ya keep bein’ soft with him like that.”

            Reyna glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow.

            “Would you rather I be rough with him?” She asked, her tone making it clear that she doubted it. Serif’s expression soured.

            “Not exactly…but it’s not good to just let ‘im win like that, either.”

            “I didn’t ‘let ‘im win’,” she protested, mocking his drawling accent. Serif tightened his jaw to keep from grinning. “He pinned me, so I tapped out. Simple as that.”

            “That ain’t how real fights work, though, and you know it, babe.”

            Reyna raised her eyebrows, and Serif realized his mistake a moment too late; that was the kind of talk she slammed recruits into the mat for.

            “So, lemme get this straight: not only are you criticizing my teaching method, but you also think it’s okay to give me unauthorized nicknames.” She paused, watching him, and Serif fought to keep control of his expression. Lowering her eyelids dangerously, she added, “Sounds to me like you want that ass beat.”

            He should not find that arousing. He _definitely_ shouldn’t find that arousing. Goddamn it.

            “Don’t have an ass,” he reminded her, unable to help his smirk now. “And that sounds like you’ve gotten a bit too confident.”

            “You wanna go?”

            She had no idea.

            “Don’t you have better things to do?” He teased. Reyna scowled and pointed to the mat. Clearly, Serif wouldn’t be able to get out of this. Not that he wanted to. Much.

            “Ya gonna go easy on me like everyone else?” Serif asked, smirking at her as he mimicked her sparring pose. Reyna raised a dark eyebrow.

            “Not if you’re gonna bitch about it,” she returned.

            Serif’s smirk widened. Fair enough.

            A second later, they were sparring.

            Reyna was serious when she said she wouldn’t take it easy on him, and Serif found himself reveling in the energy she exuded as she came at him with everything she had. He tried to return the favor, he really did, but every brush with her skin distracted him, the furrow of her brow drew his gaze when he should’ve been watching her fists or her legs, her _breath_ on him when he got too close to her—

            Reyna had him pinned in about two minutes.

            Two glorious, erotic minutes.

            He really needed to get a grip.

            “You were saying?” She wasted no time in gloating, folding her arms across her chest as she gave him a superior look. Because his arms were pinned down by her knees, he could only raise his hands, his smirk a little strained.

            “That you are perfect in everything you do, always,” he teased, working to keep the fervor out of his voice. No need to let her know how rapidly obsessed he was becoming…

            “Momma!”

            Reyna’s head snapped to the side, her eyes widening. Serif looked over, blinking in surprise when a little girl rushed into the sparring room, stumbling a bit as she diverted around grappling bodies, squeaking out “excuse me!” as she went. A few of the new recruits looked around in alarm, for the girl’s head appeared to be on fire. But it didn’t seem to be hurting her at all, and she giggled as she threw herself into Reyna’s arms, hugging her tightly.

            “Found you!” She gloated with all the glee of a child pleased with herself. Her skin was as dark as Reyna’s, and when she pulled back to grin toothily at her, Serif spotted violet eyes under her fiery fringe.

            He stared.

            Reyna grunted, shifting off of him, sitting to the side as she held the child at arm’s length, her hands on her cheeks, as if she was inspecting her.

            “Nova, what are you doing here?” She asked, frowning. “Where’s your father?”

            Nova’s face fell; this reception was clearly not what she had been expecting.

            “Papa said I could come see you,” she explained, her voice becoming small. “Are you mad, Momma?”

            Reyna sighed, smoothing her hands over the child’s hair. Serif sat up, alarmed, but the flames didn’t seem to burn Reyna at all—as her palms passed over the fire, they became bright red bunches of curly hair instead, framing Nova’s chubby cheeks.

            “I’m not mad,” she assured the child, and there was a tenderness in her expression now that Serif had never seen before. “But you can’t just run around like this. We talked about this, remember?”

            Nova’s head drooped.

            “I just wanted to see you, Momma,” she sniffled, her eyes welling with tears. Reyna sighed again, heavier this time.

            “I know, baby. But Momma’s busy right now. I’ll come see you later, okay? We’ll have dinner.”

            Nova gave a great sniff and nodded, clinging to Reyna as she stood up, hoisting the child into her arms. She glanced over at Serif, a corner of her mouth pulling down.

            “Rain check on Round 2, okay?” Without waiting for an answer, she called over to Undyne to let her know that she had to leave for a bit, gesturing to Nova as an explanation. Undyne frowned, but nodded, and Reyna turned, walking towards the door.

            “All right, ya little spitfire—where’s Papa?”

 

* * *

 

           

           “I didn’t know ya had a kid.”

            Reyna looked up from the bottle of rum she was nursing, frowning.

            “It isn’t exactly a secret,” she replied.

            Serif didn’t answer. The fact that he didn’t know made him feel like it was a secret.

            They sat outside on Serif’s porch, watching the stars. Initially, Serif had worried about air attacks from the humans, since they were leaving the air above them so exposed, but a yellow dinosaur in a lab coat explained to him that such a thing was impossible, thanks to the towers of concentrated magic energy that sat at strategic points on the walls—they interfered with the functions of planes, jets and helicopters, something the humans had learned the hard way several times. There were no more air raids because of it, and that made Serif feel a little better, knowing that they were still afforded the luxury of seeing the stars whenever they wanted.

            When he didn’t say anything else, Reyna blew out a huff.

            “Her name’s Nova,” she began, though Serif already knew this. “She’s about…six, I think. Can’t be sure—since she’s half-human and half-monster, she doesn’t age like either of them.”

            Half-monster, huh? Serif wasn’t sure how that was possible, but it explained a couple things…

            “Who’s her father?”

            It didn’t matter. Not really. It didn’t matter to Serif that some other guy had this undeniable piece of Reyna, that they had been close enough for her to bear him a child—

            “You know Grillby?” Reyna asked after an uncomfortable silence; she took another swig of rum after speaking the monster’s name. “He runs the watering hole here.”

            Grillby…yeah, Serif knew Grillby. He was a cool guy, despite being made up of fire. A good guy.

            Serif felt guilty for resenting him.

            “Explains the fireball head,” Serif noted for something to say.

            Reyna gave a snort.

            “It’s only like that when she’s excited or upset about something. Granted, that seems to be all the time, but…” Reyna sighed, passing the bottle to Serif. “She lives with Grillby at the bar.”

            Serif glanced over at her. The way Reyna spoke, it was easy to notice that things were over between her and Grillby, for whatever reason. There was no bitterness in her tone when she spoke of him, so there must be no hard feelings…except…

            “How come she doesn’t live with you?”

            Reyna’s eyes were sharp as she met his gaze. Abruptly, Serif realized what a rude question that was. He hadn’t known her for very long—only a few weeks—and asking such an impertinent question was bound to get under her skin. He wished he could take it back, but honestly, he was so, so curious. He wouldn’t pretend to know everything about Reyna, but this afternoon had thrown him for a loop, and he was still trying to recover…

            He looked away from her, taking a swig of the rum for something to do. It was a tradition in the making: any time either of them couldn’t sleep—which was often—they sought the other out, bottle of rum in hand, stories on their lips. At first it startled Serif, how easy it was to talk to this mage, to spill parts of himself nearly no one else knew, Papyrus being the rare exception. It felt unfair, like she had an advantage over him…but Reyna shared just as much as him, so Serif didn’t feel like the score was too unbalanced…despite her neglecting to mention that she had a daughter…

            Reyna watched him, measuring him with her gaze. Serif fought the urge to sit up straighter, as if that would make her decide that he was worthy of divulging the information she was clearly chewing on, debating over...

            He passed her the bottle. Reyna accepted it, staring down at it for a moment.

            And then she tilted it back and chugged the rest of it.

            “Hey!” Serif protested, but Reyna ignored him, huffing and letting the butt of the empty bottle fall into the dirt.

            “I was eighteen when I got pregnant,” she told him, scowling down at the bottle, as if it had offended her. Serif snapped his jaw shut, the rest of his complaints about the rum being gone dying away. “And it wasn’t for the right reasons. I was being selfish, and I was scared. Grillby was willing to help—he was the only one I trusted to understand this, and I knew he would’ve done anything I asked. So I used him. I took advantage of his feelings for me, and I…”

            Reyna huffed, smacking her forehead with the heel of her palm. She let it rest there, still staring down at the ground.

            “After I had her…I realized this wasn’t what I wanted. I never thought of myself as a mother. I never dreamed I would be. But if I hadn’t…then I would’ve died. And I couldn’t be reborn in a world like this. Not again.”

            She closed her eyes, and abruptly, she looked so tired.

            “Grillby agreed to raise her. And then I left. I didn’t see her again until she was about…four, I think. In that time, I did a lot of thinking, about what I did, and why I did it. And I hated myself. I fucking _hated_ me for what I did. Choosing to bring a child into a war-torn world just to save my own fucking skin? I might not have been ready to be a mother, but that didn’t change the fact that I _was_ one, now. And she deserved better from me—so much better.”

            It was quiet for a long time.

            Eventually, Reyna looked up, running her hand through her permanently ruffled-looking hair, giving Serif a wry look.

            “I found them again, and brought them here. It’s about the only damn decent thing I’ve done for her. For both of them.”

            Serif tore his gaze from her, staring up at stars that were millions of miles away. He had a question or two about what she was talking about—she had never explained her strange regeneration process to satisfaction—but he didn’t know how to ask. Reyna carried so much weight within her, the albatross nearly breaking her back. And it was remarkable just how much Serif understood her—how hard it was to realize you held the life of a child in your hands.

            Serif wished there was more rum. He could use some right about now.

            “I like her,” he said when the silence stretched on for too long. Reyna looked startled.

            “You haven’t even officially met her, yet,” she pointed out, giving him an odd look.

            Serif smirked.

            “She’s cute. I wonder…is that what ya looked like as a little girl?”

            Reyna snorted.

            “Yeah, right. If I was as cute as her, I’d be kidnapped immediately.”

            The affection in Reyna’s tone could not be denied. And whatever she said about not being ready to be a mother, it was clear to Serif that Nova adored her. Then again, who didn’t? It was easy, once one got past the prickly exterior, to see the good in Reyna.

            It was why Serif was in trouble now.

            “Guess it’s a miracle it hasn’t happened to her yet?” He guessed.

            Reyna’s grin became bloodthirsty.

            “I wish a motherfucker would,” she said, and Serif chuckled.

 

* * *

 

            Nova lived up to her name perfectly, Serif thought. The energetic little ball of sunshine was always bouncing around somewhere, not far out of sight of her father. True to Reyna’s words, she was damn near always half on fire; Serif was beginning to think he would only see her actual hair the one time Reyna turned it back into hair. Her half-sister, Siz, was quite fond of her; when both parents were busy, she could be counted on to care for Nova, and make sure she didn’t get herself into too much trouble.

            And oh boy did she need to be kept out of trouble.

            She had an uncanny ability for finding Reyna—Serif suspected it was because Nova was so in tune with Reyna’s aura, the way all monster children were with their parents. She popped up so much when Reyna was busy with war stuff that Serif was surprised it took so long for him to learn of her existence; Grillby must keep a closer watch on her than he was doing as of late. Reyna always reprimanded her for wandering away from Grillby and took her back when she could spare the time; when she couldn’t, Nova stayed in her arms, her flaming hair stroked from her face as Reyna continued with whatever task she was supposed to be completing.

            Serif ached at this sight—it was a selfish ache, borne from his own insecurities. Reyna was clearly not involved with Grillby, and they were cordial towards each other when they met on base or at the bar, but because he watched closer than anyone, Serif could tell that things were not over on Grillby’s side. He saw it in the way Grillby took such tender care of Nova, in the way he indulged Reyna when she sat at the bar drunkenly complaining about something, in the way his fingers brushed hers when he handed her a fresh bottle of rum…a bottle she carried with her as she and Serif left the bar to go drink on Serif’s porch.

            He felt like a homewrecker.

            “Y’ ever think ‘bout gettin’ back with Grillbz?” He wondered out loud one night, when he was drunk enough to ask.

            Reyna leaned on the railing of his porch, her eyes a little unfocused. She blinked after a moment, stifling a hiccup.

            “Why would I?” She wanted to know, her brow furrowing at the thought. “He’s better off without me.”

            “He loves ya,” Serif said without meaning to. Reyna’s eyes tightened, and she ducked her head.

            “I know,” she grumbled.

            “Y’do?” Serif asked in surprise. Reyna snorted, the sound half-hearted.

            “He may not be the most talkative person, but I know how to read him by now.” The amusement left her expression. “I see the way he looks at me.”

            “D’ya not love ‘im?” Serif asked, slurring his words a little more than usual. Reyna huffed, turning raised eyebrows onto Serif.

            “What’re you, my guidance counselor?” She suddenly shot at him. “Why’re you so concerned about my love life all of a sudden?”

            ‘ _Stop talking,_ ’ a reasonable voice in his mind commanded. This conversation was leading down a very dangerous road—a road he paved, granted, but still—

            He shrugged, the motion making him sway a bit.

            “Jus’ wonderin’,” he grunted, attempting to sound as nonchalant as possible.

            He wasn’t sure if Reyna bought it, but she dropped it, turning his mind to other matters.

            “I’m leaving on assignment tomorrow,” she said, as casual as anything. She couldn’t know how these words affected him, how he stiffened with dread. Her leaving base from time to time was inevitable—she was one of the best fighters, thanks to her magic, and the war was finally beginning to turn in their favor. But she always came back with a new scar and a story that made Serif wish he could be out there with her, because she was apparently too reckless and never watched her own back… “Anything you want from the outside world?”

            Yeah: Serif wanted this war over with. He wanted peace already, goddamn it. He just wanted everyone to lay down their arms, agree to stop being fucking dicks to each other, and just live and let live.

             But that was too much to ask, wasn’t it?

            He decided to settle for something a little more reasonable.

            “Cigarettes,” he said, stifling a moan of longing at the thought of nicotine rushing through his system.

            Reyna eyed him; he could see in her expression that she thought it was the rum talking. But when he met her gaze, something must’ve convinced her, for she smiled.

            “I’ll see what I can do,” she promised.

            “’N come back alive,” he demanded, unable to help himself.

            Reyna grinned.

            “On that, I can make no promises.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to draw Nova IMMEDIATELY.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed more of this nonsense. :P
> 
> ~Reyna


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here. Something small to tide you over while I wrap up SF. :P
> 
> WARNING: It gets a bit NSFW by the end. You have been warned.
> 
> Enjoy! <3
> 
> ~Reyna

            Serif heard it late when the war party returned; he had been busy with Papyrus, who was agonizing over a decision he had to make: going out on the front lines, or staying here and helping the local doctor. Serif was bartering heavily for the latter decision when a Knight Knight stomped by with an announcement: a welcome back party for the troops who had returned.

            Serif was up on his feet and out the door in a flash, Papyrus hot on his tarsals.

            The welcome party wasn’t all fun and games—they had lost soldiers. In the celebration, there was also mourning; the biggest groups surrounded the loved ones that had been left behind, offering condolences and support. Papyrus detached himself from Serif to give his sympathies as Serif searched for Reyna, growing more and more anxious the longer she eluded his sight. Where was she? Surely she came back with everyone else? There was no way she had been—

            Serif shut down that thought before it could incapacitate him with terror.

            She could not be gone. Serif would find her.

            He spotted Grillby, behind the bar as always, serving drinks. As much as Serif hated to approach him about this, he knew that Grillby would know before he did, whether or not Reyna…

            “I haven’t seen her,” Grillby admitted when a shamefaced Serif plucked up the courage to ask. “But I know she came back with everyone. Maybe try her place.”

            Relief washed through Serif, and he sheepishly thanked Grillby for the information. Grillby nodded, saying nothing more on the matter, and Serif took his leave rather quickly.

            Reyna’s place was down the road from Serif’s; she was in one of the nicer shacks, simply since she had been among the first people to call Haven home. He knocked, wishing he had a bottle of rum to bring her…but there was no way he could’ve asked for one from Grillby without feeling guilty about it.

            There was no answer.

            Frowning, Serif tried again, but still nothing.

            Then he began to worry. Was she okay? Should he get somebody to check on her? Or was she just too exhausted to answer the door?

            Somehow, Serif talked himself down. Reyna just got back—she didn’t need him breaking down her door first thing. He made himself take a step back, peering at her door for a long time. And then he marched himself back to his and Papyrus’ place, one foot in front of the other.

            She was fine. He would see her tomorrow…

            Serif couldn’t sleep.

            He got up early the next morning, more out of irritation than anything. Across the room, Papyrus was snoring; Serif made sure he was extra-quiet as he got dressed for the day, slipping carefully out the door to avoid waking his brother.

            The morning was misty, the spring weather still undecided between chill and heat. Serif squinted through the mist, his gaze immediately going to Reyna’s place, almost expecting to see lights on in her windows…but that was just wishful thinking, since this was entirely too early for her to be up—

            Her front door opened.

            Serif blinked, and then stared harder as a figure emerged from her front door—a figure too tall to be her.

            It took a fair amount of squinting, but eventually, Serif made out who it was through the morning fog—Aidan, one of the humans dedicated to their cause. Supposedly. He was glancing around surreptitiously, looking awfully shifty as he fled from Reyna’s place, smoothing bed hair down as he quickly made his way up the road to his own place. If he saw Serif at all as he passed, he ignored him thoroughly, and eventually disappeared in the distance.

            Serif felt himself slowly sinking down onto his porch, staring at the stillness of Reyna’s place.

            No wonder she hadn’t answered her door last night—she had been…“busy”.

            “Don’t jump to conclusions,” he told himself quietly, but for all the words did, he might as well have been talking to air.

           

* * *

 

            “So…I saw somethin’ interestin’ this mornin’…”

            Serif waited. Reyna did not so much as look at him; she was apparently too busy loading bullets into the gun he had just finished assembling.

            “At your place, I mean,” he prompted.

            Eyes still intent on her work, Reyna raised an eyebrow.

            “Hmm?” She hummed, clearly distracted…or pretending to be.

            Serif frowned, but kept his tone casual.

            “Saw Aidan sneakin’ out. He was bein’ real shifty-like.”

            “Mmm,” she hummed again, non-committal. Serif began to wonder if she was even listening to him.

            “His hair looked real messy, too,” he fished.

            Reyna didn’t say anything. She loaded the gun, smirking at the satisfying click it made as the bullets were locked into place.

            “If I didn’t know any better,” Serif continued, closely watching her face, “I’d say he slept over.”

            Reyna sat the finished gun off to the side, and finally looked up. Serif stared at her, his gaze searching her inscrutable expression…

            Abruptly, she deadpanned him a look.

            “And?” She asked, as if the answer was of little consequence.

            Serif scowled. “Whaddya mean ‘and’?”

            “And so what if he slept over?” She tapped the gun he was supposed to be assembling, bringing his attention back to it for a moment before his gaze flashed back to her face. “What’s it to you? Is he your boyfriend?”

            Serif dropped his gaze to the disassembled gun in his hand, his skull flushing yellow.

            “Just didn’t know ya were…involved,” he said gruffly, annoyed at her goading. “Came over last night ‘cause I was worried when I didn’t see ya come back, but if I’d known you were with someone—”

            “Must you know _every_ detail of my personal life?”

            “S’not what I’m sayin’,” Serif lied, his gaze now intent on his work so he wouldn’t have to look at her. “Just mean…wish you’d told me you’re seein’ someone—”

            The gun jammed, and he swore. He tried taking it apart again, but honestly, he had no idea where he’d gone wrong, and the parts only seemed to get more and more stuck the more he tried to undo them—

            A dark hand rested over his, making him freeze. Serif stayed perfectly still as Reyna took the gun from his hands, took it apart like it was nothing, and laid the parts out in front of him once again, leaving him free to start at the beginning. He dared to glance up at her, and she was frowning.

            “…Okay, apparently, we need to have a conversation later,” she said, raising an eyebrow at him. “But for now, you’ve gotta focus. These guns won’t assemble themselves, and doing it by magic leads to disaster. Trust me…and start over.”

            Serif sighed, but did as he was told. He tried very much not to think about the conversation he apparently had to have later with Reyna, or else the distraction would make him mess up again.

            He screwed up twice more and Reyna gave up on him for the day. 

 

* * *

 

            Reyna’s place was comfortable—things she managed to scavenge while out in the field made their way into her shack, but only if no one else claimed them first. She had a thing for stuffed animals—they sat on a shelf mounted on the wall, surveying the room. Serif somehow felt like their empty eyes were judging him as he sat across from her, a glass of rum gripped in between his fingers that he hoped to hell weren’t trembling noticeably.

            Reyna sat oddly in her chair; rather than facing forward, she chose to rest her back against the armrest, her legs flung over the other as she sipped at her glass, looking much too comfortable despite the odd position. Serif thought about teasing her about her inability to sit normally, but the words got stuck in his nonexistent throat.

            He had no fucking business being here and he knew it. As Reyna already said, it wasn’t his business who she may or may not be sleeping with. They were barely even friends; he had no claim on her, romantically or otherwise.

            Just as he was about to make an excuse and flee, she chose that moment to speak.

            “I’m not seeing Aidan,” she said at last, eyeing him from her peripheral vision. “Last night was a one-time thing—he had to shoot one of his former best friends out on the field, and he needed a little sympathy. And I wanted to fuck him.”

            The blatancy of her words startled Serif speechless. Reyna let him stew in that for a moment as she sipped more of her rum, turning her gaze back to him only after she had smacked her lips in satisfaction.

            “…What’s that look for?” She questioned him, raising an eyebrow at whatever expression he was making. “What, you think I’m not allowed to enjoy sex? Possibly because I’m a woman?”

            “Don’t put words in my mouth,” Serif protested, frowning now. “I’m not sayin’ ya can’t have sex—”

            “Then why the fuss this morning?” She challenged him, swinging forward in her chair to glare at him full in the face. “What’s your problem, Serif?”

            Holy shit, she was _determined_ to make this difficult, wasn’t she?

            Serif drained his glass, and then set it down on the table next to him before he stood up.

            “Y’know what? Never mind. Forget it,” he grumbled, turning to go. But Reyna seized his forearm.

            “We’re not done, Serif,” she growled at his back, and Serif had to repress the resulting shudder that flashed through him at such a sound. Dear _god_ he needed help.

            “Reyna—” he grumbled, tugging at his arm, but Reyna held fast, circling around to glare at him.

            “You’re not leaving until you tell me what the hell your problem is,” she told him, and Serif’s teeth ground together. “Seriously, Serif, what the fuck—!”

            Whatever else she was about to say was swallowed by Serif lunging at her, mashing her lips to his teeth. A minute later, he felt stupid—he couldn’t actually kiss her, he didn’t have _lips._ And he shouldn’t be trying to kiss her in the first place! What the _fuck_ was he doing?!

            He pulled back, breathing hard. Reyna’s eyes were open wide, and she stared at him, nothing but shock registering in her expression. Serif cursed himself out internally, lost in those eyes of hers. It was over, wasn’t it? Any closeness they’d gained over the past month and a half was gone after this foolish move he just made. He was going to flog himself later.

            As Serif opened his mouth, searching for words that might, on an off-chance, get him off the hook…Reyna abruptly smirked.

            “Oh,” she drawled, and Serif felt his eye sockets widen at the deviousness of her tone. “Is _that_ all?”

            Before he could ask what she was talking about, Reyna tugged him back to her, shoving him over. Serif felt himself flail for a second before he landed hard on her couch, his groan of pain becoming a yelp of surprise when she suddenly climbed onto his lap, her smirk widening into a grin.

            “ _This_ is why you were bitching? Jealousy?” She snorted and rolled her eyes, trailing her fingertips down Serif’s ribcage. He shivered—god, he could just feel her body heat through the thin fabric of his tank top, and the thought of how her skin would feel on his bare bones—

            Reyna leaned over, her tongue trailing the underside of Serif’s jaw. He whimpered at the contact.

            “You could’ve just said something earlier,” Reyna mumbled to him, and her hair tickled him as her hands slipped under his clothes, exploring. He stifled another whine, grunting at the feel of her warm skin, sending shivers of delight down his spine.

            “Didn’t—didn’t think—” He lost his breath and his train of thought when she kissed his vertebrae; he had to swallow and try again. “Didn’t think you’d…be into…someone like me…”

            Reyna leaned forward, hovering over him. The look in her violet eyes was critical.

            “Is this about you thinking I’m shallow? Or about your lack of confidence in yourself?” She questioned, stroking his sternum with a fingertip as Serif fought to keep rational thought.

            “Neither?” He croaked, though even he could hear the dishonest note in his tone. Reyna rolled her eyes and sat up, gazing down her nose at him.

            “Well surprise, surprise: you’re wrong,” she told him point blank, rocking her hips forward. Her grin grew wicked at the cracked moan Serif accidentally let out; his hands grasped her hips, needing the contact to ground him. Not that it would help much, probably. “So shut up, sit back, and relax. If this is what you want, then I’m only too happy to oblige—you’ll forget why you were jealous in the first place after a couple rounds.”

            As she tugged her shirt off, Serif muffled a gasp, marveling at her body, though her skin was littered with battle scars, some of them more violent-looking than others. Unable to help himself, his fingers traced every scar he could find, silently marveling—skin was actually pretty resistant, wasn’t it? Despite the severity of the wound, it was able to heal itself, even if help from stitches was sometimes required. He sat up, dipping his head to lick at her skin, tasting sweat, soap, and an unnamable flavor that he associated with Reyna herself. She moaned low in her throat, apparently approving of his actions.

            “I hope you know what you’re getting into,” she purred to him, reaching down to undo his pants next. Serif let his eye sockets fall closed, breathing in her scent.

            To be honest, he had no idea if he knew what he was getting into at all.

            And he didn’t give a damn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, the plot isn't very in-depth. These are just random things that come to me while I'm writing, and so I follow the whim and leave it at that. I doubt I'll develop this into anything more than the drabble it is.
> 
> Regardless, thanks for reading~ Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> ~Reyna


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